


That's what people do...

by Domino62



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mental Instability
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 09:47:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3483656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Domino62/pseuds/Domino62
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Jim Moriarty is in a mental hospital after a traumatic event.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Young Jim Moriarty swallowed the pills he was given. He didn't ask what they were. He really didn't care. He didn't care about anything now.  He couldn't accurately say how long he'd been in the "hospital." His father had put him into this place after he'd tried to slit his wrists with a straight razor, or was it because he tried to slit "father's" face with said razor? It was all a bit of a blur to be honest, and of course it depended on whose lie you chose to believe.   In either case,  if he hadn't been so stupid, he'd have done the job, either version, correctly.  Given another chance, he wouldn't make the same mistake.  It was only a matter of time. One of these idiots would leave an adequate instrument in his reach and it would all be over.  He could cash in, as they say. All he had to do for the time being was lay low and not draw any undue attention to himself.  He could do that. He was used to blending, when needed. 

For now, he rocked back and forth in the chair in front of the window.  Bare feet tucked under him, he watched the ordinary people come and go up the front walk. Could they see him too, sitting in those pale blue pajamas; too loose now for his ever shrinking form? Did they wonder who he was? Did anyone miss him at all? The white coats tried to force feed him a few times.  He did as much damage as he could with his teeth before he'd been sedated...again and they'd given up on that plan. Every day they presented him with three trays.  He'd say three meals, but you could hardly call the crap they offered "food".   Every now and then he'd sip juice or nibble on a piece of fruit, but he never ate their ridiculous entrees.  

One of the janitors brought him Cadbury chocolates from time to time.  An elder gentleman of African descent, he assumed.  He mopped the floors and washed the windows and sang the most sorrowful songs Jim had ever heard.  He also smiled at Jim and winked when he slipped him the chocolate.  Not being used to kindness, Jim was naturally suspicious of it.   But the chocolate was good and if the old man pushed him for anything in return, he'd just have expose him and get him sacked. 

Day by day, the hours passed. Or he assumed they did, based on the movement of the shadows across the room. The old ugly bitch in the white shoes and piss-yellow sweater freshened her  ghastly lipstick and changed the channel on the television....again.  Static.....static.....talking heads.....news..... He didn't understand ordinary people. How did they care about that little glowing box when there was so much fun to be had in the world. Or at least there had been fun...before.

His father came and went...for awhile.  Jim never responded to his questions, threats or promises.  There was nothing the man could say that would ever make Jim forgive or forget all that had happened between them. Then the bastard stopped coming all together.  Good riddance. They'd never gotten along, even before the events which had placed him in the nut house.  Jim had many regrets in his short life but the biggest was that he hadn't killed his father as soon as he was able to hold a knife. Now, it appeared, he might never get the chance again. And the bastard needed killing. He deserved a slow painful death for what he'd done to Jim's Mum.. 

His mother had been his whole world when he was a boy.  She doted on him and took him everywhere she went. He supposed the old man got jealous of their private jokes and late night giggling.  Or maybe he thought it would be easier to cheat on his wife without his very observant son around.  In either case, he'd shipped Jim off to boarding school as soon as he came of age.   Jim hated it there.  The other boys were cruel and the teachers indifferent to his suffering.  Jim learned quickly to avoid the attention of the bullies and the headmaster.  He kept to himself and fantasized daily about blowing the place up or of running away.  When he would come home from school on holidays he got the treat of listening to his parents squabble and fight. Words would fly, dishes would break and inevitably the front door would slam, signaling his father's departure.  Then his mother would crawl into his room and cuddle up behind him, crying quietly into his hair.  

Sometimes the bastard would stay gone for days, allowing him time to relax and enjoy time with his mother. Other times, he would return, inebriated and infuriated.  On those nights, Jim would hide his mother until the bastard passed out and then they would leave for the night. His mother had plenty of friends, they could always find an empty bed or sofa, but sometimes, they just found a small cafe and sat up drinking coffee and talking. He loved those nights, especially. She would tell him of her years on the stage, before she'd been a fool and agreed to marry for money.  For as long as he could remember, he'd pleaded with her to just take him and leave, for good,  but she'd just sigh and tell him things weren't that easy.  Jim did not understand what she meant.  It was as easy as packing two suitcases and catching a cab, as far as he could see. What could be simpler.  Still, she never did do it. 

The "doctors" loved to try and get Jim to talk about his mother, but he refused to share his precious memories with them.  They never knew her and he wasn't going to make her a specimen for them to examine.  He'd heard enough people blame her for what happened, and he'd told them all exactly what they could do with their opinions.  He wasn't going to stand by while people trashed her memory and he wasn't going to give them any more tid bits for their chart notes.  If they were so smart, they could figure him out without his help.  They'd prod him and poke him, measure and weigh him, checking him over once a week, for what he wasn't sure.  Probably wanted to keep him healthy so the money would keep coming in for his care and feeding.  They'd ask him all kinds of stupid questions and sometimes he'd respond with jibberish just to fuck with them.  That got the pens scribbling.  But even that became boring after a few weeks.  And boredom was the thing Jim despised above all others, well, except maybe his father.  Now that "Dear old Dad" had slithered off to parts unknown, Mr. Boredom was his archenemy, if there was such a thing. 

So, his curiosity was definitely piqued when he saw something unusual from his favorite window on this otherwise boring day.  He watched as a very interesting man stepped out of a cab and headed to the front door of the hospital.  The man seemed so odd to Jim, that at first he assumed it was a new patient, but since he was unescorted, he couldn't be.   He had on cammo trousers, beat-up, un-laced, brown boots and a black, bulky, parka-type jacket with a fur-trimmed collar which was completely inappropriate for the mild weather.   He carried an ancient brief case in his left hand and a cigarette in his right.  His hair was reddish brown and quite shaggy. He also had several days' beard growth in the same rusty hue.  As this odd fellow made his way up the walk, his gaze suddenly met Jim's.  The stranger stopped in his tracks and then a very large, shark-like smile spread across his face.  Jim felt gooseflesh crawl across his arms. Suddenly, the man flicked the butt of his cigarette right at Jim's face. It bounced off the window and, after flinching,  Jim looked down to see where it had landed in the flower bushes below.  When he looked back up the strange man was gone.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Young Jim bolted from his perch by the window as if he'd been shot from a cannon. The nurse yelled, "OY!" but he just blew her a kiss and kept on speed walking out of the day room. He rounded the corner on his way to the Administrator's door. He wanted to press his ear to that fake wooden veneer and find out who the stranger was, but his plan derailed when he spotted the burly-bodied rented guard standing there with his arms crossed.  

Jim smiled at the dope but just got a "don't even try me" look in return. Jim detoured to the drinking fountain, took a long pull of nasty, metallic tasting water and then spun on the guard. 

"Who's in there?" he asked sweetly, tugging at the sleeves of his pyjamas and trying to look harmless.

"Piss off, you little weasel", the brute answered, gruffly. "who _might_ be in there is not your concern."

"Oh, come on. You can tell me." Jim tried, then changed course, "Oh. you don't you know, do you?  Uh Oh.  Is that kind of important information above your pay scale?"

"Of course I know, you little bastard." the guard snarled, "But I'm not telling you. Now, run along, before I lose my patience"

"Patience or Patients?" Jim asked, smirking, "because losing your patients would get you sacked, wouldn't it?"

"Did you not hear me, boy? Sod Off!" the guard hissed, trying to get his point across without raising his voice. 

"I'll let you suck me off if you tell me", Jim suggested, with a quick swivel of his hips.  

"What?"  the guards fat face turned bright red and he uncrossed his arms. He looked rather like a confused gorilla to Jim.

"Or, I'll do you, either way is fine by me"  Jim winked and licked his lips. 

"I'll DO you, alright.  Get your ass back to the day room, before I make it impossible for you to walk!"  The guard roared.   And suddenly, the Administrator's door flew open.

"Anderson!  What on earth is going on out here?"  the little man in the red bow tie and round glasses inquired.  Doctor Melvin Whimple was a walking cartoon character.  Jim giggled every time he saw him or heard him speak.  This time was no exception, but he hid his grin behind his hand a tried sneaking peeks through the door.  The stranger was sitting in one of the good Doctor's desk chairs, facing the window, back to the door. 

"Sorry, sir. This young man was being cheeky and nosey and refused to follow my directives" the guard huffed.  "I'm sorry if we disturbed you."

"I've told you a million times, Anderson. Yelling at the patients is counter-productive. Now, go get us some juice and nibbles from the kitchen, please.  Miss Donovan is on her lunch and won't be back for hours."

"But sir!" the guard protested.   "I'm supposed to watch the door, and keep pests like him away.

"No worries, Anderson. We can manage without your protection for a few moments, and besides, It's young Jim here, who I was going to send you to find. " Whimple exclaimed and reached out a welcoming arm to his young charge.  Jim watched as the scruffy stranger snapped his head around at that last sentence.  Their eyes met and that big scary smile returned to the man's face.  Jim swore this chap looked crazier than any of his current housemates and he could not imagine who he was or what he could possibly want. Feeling uncomfortable, Jim broke the eye contact and stared at the floor, tugging on his sleeves and shuffling his feet.   "Come on, James" the doctor urged, "No one's going to harm you. Look, you have a visitor!"  he smiled.  Jim was torn between fear and curiosity.  He swallowed and took a step forward. 

"There's a good lad!"  Whimple encouraged, putting his arm around Jim and leading him into the office.  "This is a friend of your father's, James.  Say Hello".  But Jim did not say anything at all.  He couldn't find words and he could feel the adrenaline race through his body at the mention of his father.  He swallowed hard, clenched his fists and fought the urge to flee.  He instantly distrusted the stranger and cursed himself for not sneaking down to the furnace room to hide.  The stranger stood up, and towered over Jim. He must be six foot two or three. 

"Hello Jim" the stranger said, "I'm Sebastian Moran"  His voice was deep and rough.  Jim took the offered hand and shook it.  It was also rough, and huge.  This was not the sort of chap he'd ever seen in the company of his father, although many of his father's dealings were kept very hush hush.  

"Why did my father send you?", Jim asked, suspiciously.  Clearly this man was some sort of henchman on Dear Daddy's payroll. 

"He didn't send me" Moran said flatly, gesturing toward the chair next to him.  "Sit down, Jim"

"Then why are you here?"  Jim asked, remaining at the door, narrowing his eyes. 

"Your Dad always said you were a mouthy little shit, Jimmy.  I was hoping he was exaggerating"  Moran interlaced his palms and bent his fingers backwards, cracking the knuckles.  

"Mr. Moran!"  Whimple protested, turning pink.   Jim wanted to lash out. Wanted to punch this rude git in the mouth.  He stayed still. 

"You wanna stay in the loony bin, kid?"  Moran asked, ignoring Whimple and locking his eyes on Jim's. 

"No. but I'm not going....home"  the last word tasted vile in his mouth.  His father's house was not a home, it was a prison.  "I don't want to see him ever again". Jim glared at the man, daring him to say he had to go.

"No worries on that end, kid.  Your old man is pushing up daisies. Shame you missed the wake. It was a humdinger"

"Wh-what?"  Jim asked.  His head suddenly filled with white noise and there was a slight ringing in his left ear. He leaned back against the door for support. 

"Mr. Moran, really!" huffed, Whimple, coming back around the desk and grabbing Jim's shoulders, "Jim, please sit down, I know this must be shocking, dear boy".  But his patient could not hear him.   Young Jim Moriarty was off-line.  His brain was dancing to a one line song, "pushing up daisies, pushing up daisies, pushing up daisies" and it was not interested in further input for the forseeeable future.  

Moran was staring at the kid's face, smiling at the shocked look he found there when suddenly, something crashed into the other side of the door, followed by a string of obscenities.

"Anderson!"  Whimple shouted,  "come around the other way for goodness sake!"   a muffled "sorry" came through the door, and Moran chuckled.  

"You really need to get yourself some better help around here, Doc"  He smirked, never taking his eyes off of Jim   When the kid started mumbling to himself, Moran rose and put his face right down at youngster's eye level.  "Jimmy!  Hellooooooooo! Hey, Kid!" he called.  When he got no response, he reached up and dug his knuckle behind the kid's ear while blocking the doc's view with his back. 

"OW!" Jim squeeled, coming back on-line, just as the nimby with the tea cart came through the side door.   Moran glared at him and the doofus scurried away. 

"Hey! Welcome back, kid. I was afraid for a minute you were going to go full retard on me and piss yourself"  Moran laughed.  Whimple scowled and shuffled papers. Jim looked at them both, rubbing behind his ear and mysteriously craving some of that Cadbury chocolate.  "Jimmy, Jim, Jim.  Grab a seat and listen up so we can get out of here, OK?"  Moran said. 

"James. Your father", Whimple started, before being cut off by Moran.

"Jim. Your Dad left you to me.  I'm your new guardian, for lack of a better word.  Now. If you wanna stay in the nut house, I am glad to leave you here.  You can walk around in your little pyjamas, taking pills and wanking in the shower til the day you die, But, something tells me you've had enough of jello and day time TV, am I right?"   Jim nodded, so Moran continued.  "Good.  Now. Why don't you skip down the hallway, put on some clothes, pack up your teddy bear and your journal of pathetic, emo poetry and let's get the fuck out of here?"

"Mr. Moran!"  Whimple protested again. 

"Oh, can it, Doc." Moran snarled, lighting up a cigarette, "You aren't doing this kid any good.  There's nothing wrong with him that a little fresh air and adventure can't cure.  Look,  I'll pay you for an extra month if you get the paperwork done by the time Jimmy's packed up his old kit bag, alright?"

"it is not that simple"  the doctor retorted, puffing himself up like those funny fish Jim had seen on a documentary show in the day room that one time. 

"Yeah. Doc. It is."  Moran said cooly, pulling his coat aside to show the good doctor the other route they could go, if there was any more debate.   Jim couldn't see what had been flashed at the doctor, but he was willing to bet it wasn't candy floss and lollies.  "Go get your shit, Jimmy.  And make it quick.  Me and the doc will share some nibbles while you're gone" Moran smiled that crazy smile again and flicked ash, dramatically, onto the doctor's carpet.   Then he reached for the bowl of peanuts and chucked a handful into his mouth. He winked at Jim who hesitated just a moment before throwing open the door.  

Though still legally a child, Jim knew a golden opportunity when one stared him in the face.  This strange man might be insane, but he was definitely NOT boring!  Whatever occurred after they left the hospital would be well worth the feeling he had in his stomach right now.  He hadn't felt anything like this since before his mother had died. He was....excited. 

"I'll be back in 5 minutes!" he blurted out, and when no one objected, he ran out into the hall nearly bowling Anderson over as he went. He could hear Moran laughing as he righted himself and ran to his room to gather his things. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"


	3. Chapter 3

As they made their way through London in the smelly cab, Jim tried to take in as much detail of Morans face as he could without turning his head. He had a scent about him that made Jim feel safe. Could bravery have a scent? Could cunnibg? Or madness?

"Quit eye-balling me kid. It's annoying." Moran grunted from behind his mirrored aviator sun glasses. "You got questions? Shoot". He tipped his head back on the cabs seat, as if to nap. Jim had so many questions he didn't even know where to begin.

"How did my father die?"

"An unfortunate accident"

"Please don't patronize me, Mr. Moran. I came along with you without any explanations today and now I'd really appreciate hearing the truth".

"Don't use my name when we're in public, kid. It's not safe" Moran hissed , hooking his thumb toward the cabbie. Jim doubted the old man could hear them over his football game, but nodded just the same.

"Where are we going?" He whispered. Moran just smiled that predator's grin at him. "What? Is that top secret too?"

"Calm down, son. We'll be there shortly. Hey, when's the last time you had a big steak or a decent martini?"

"I've never had a martini", Jim admitted, somehow ashamed.

"No? Well, we'll fix that. How about a girl? Please tell me you found some action inside that joint. Crazy little bitches in the broom cliset, yeah? Sexy little nurses on thebilliards table? Rawr". Moran laughed, cupping his crotch and wiggling his eyebrows.

Jim blushed and looked away. "Not really my area", he confessed.

"Really? You like boys then? Cause thats fine too"

"I know it is" Jim lied. "How about you? Big lady killer are you?"

Moran's smile disappeared. "I've killed my share of ladies, yeah. But only when absolutely necessary" He made a gun out of his thumb and forefinger and then "shot" it at Jim who recoiled.

"Jesus Christ!" He exclaimed feeling equal parts queasy and turned on.

"Ha! You should see your face, kid!" Moran howled As the cab pulled up in front of a Two-story white Victorian. "Ah, good, this is us, Sport. Pay the man and meet me in the foyer." Moran hopped out of the cab, stuffed a wad of bills in Jim's fist then sprinted up the stairs of the house, briefcase in hand.

Jim was fumbling with the cash when he noticed two photographs of children taped to the dash Of the cab. The cabbie followed Jim's gaze and smiled, warmly. "That's my whole world there, mate. Yeah, we had them late, but now I can't remember what we did without them." He touched the photos, lovingly. "Family really is everything, isnt it?" He mused.

"I, uh, wouldn't know", Jim stuttered. " I don't have one". When he saw the cabbie's smile fade, he thanked him and grabbed his small bag of belongings from the boot of the cab. Then he walked up the freshly painted forest green stairs and through the shiny jet-black door.

***

The house was appointed with well-oiled antiques. Jim could sense the touch of a kind woman and a jolt of grief shot through him. He heard Moran laughing from somewhere in the back of the first floor. The kitchen, he assumed, and made his way down a hallway covered in oil and water color paintings of flowers, birds and furry animals.

"Ah, here he is," Moran said as Jim entered the spotless kitchen. He was not surprised to see an older lady in pink and purple fussing over a tea pot and biscuits. She looked up at him and smiled broadly.

"Jim. This is our hostess, Mrs. Edna Hudson", Moran beamed. "Her late husband was an associate of your Dad's and mine. Come say Hello."

"I, uh, Im sorry for your loss" Jim managed,not knowing the proper greeting for the circumstance.

"Whatever for?", Mrs. Hudson laughed. "He was a right bastard. But I am sorry for your loss, Jim. Your Dad was good to me"

"Well, that makes one of us, I guess" Jim mumbled.

Oh, Dear" Mrs Hudson said softly, looking at Moran.

"Oy! Jim! I'm sure what you _meant_ to say was 'thank you for your kind words and hospitality, Mrs. Hudson' am I right?" Moran barked.

"Oh, yes, of course. Sorry M'aam"

"Not to worry, Dear. I understand fratricidal feelings" the woman said with a wink as she brought the tea tray. "Have a nice cuppa and then I'll show you your rooms" she touched his shoulder lightly as she turned to leave the room. "I won't be a moment, boys. Help yourselves"

When she was safely gone, Moran reached over and slapped Jim on the ear. "For Fuck's sake, Jimmy. Lighten up!. She's a nice lady, shes been through Hell and back and you're being extremely rude."

"Sorry!" Jim gasped, grasping at his ear.

"Drink your tea, eat your biscuits and get the bug outta your ass before I put my boot up there as well, yeah?"

"Ok. Yeah. I heard you" Jim snapped. "But why are we here? Surely we can do better". Without warning, Moran slapped him again.

"Do you want to go back to the loony bin?"

"No!"

"Then keep your bitching to yourself, or write it in your journal, but do NOT question me again. Understand?" Moran glared at him.

Jim reached for the sugar, put two teaspoons full into his cup then just the tiniest squeeze of lemon.  He lifted the tea to his mouth for the ever-important first sip.  He closed his eyes and sighed in contentment.  When he opened his eyes again and locked gazes with Moran, the elder man sensed a change.  It was if the kid had suddenly hardened before him.   His eyes appeared darker and absent of affect.  Then he spoke, softly, calmly like a man three times his age:

"Mr. Moran, I'm not sure what you've heard about me, but I assure you that I am nobody's punching bag.  I advise you not to touch me in anger again.  Do _you_ understand?"

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Moran's mouth dropped open in surprise, just for a fraction of a second. If Jim hadn't been staring at him he may have missed it.  Moran got up, suddenly, and left the room So Jim took another sip of tea and then nibbled on a biscuit.  The minutes passed. The kitchen was eerily quiet Until Mrs Hudson returned, humming a little melody.

"Everything alright, Dear?"  She asked.

"Quite." He replied with a small smile.  "Mrs. Hudson, do you happen to have some nuts or kippers about and the ingredients for martinis?" 

"Martinis?" She asked in disbelief.

"Oh, not for me, Ma'am, I assure you.  Mr. Moran likes them, you see, and  I wanted to learn to make them...for him."  The young man lied, in his sweetest tone.

"Well, let me show you your room first and then I'll see what I have. I was going to pop down to the shops anyway, so I could pick some things up for you, if you'd like"

"Thank you" Jim said beaming up at her.

"But just this once, Dear.   I'm not your housekeeper."

"Of course you aren't. In fact, I was going to ask what chores I could help you with, Mrs. Hudson, since I have no money to offer you". 

"No money?  Thats a laugh. Your father was one of the richest men in Ireland, young man. A skilled investor and diligent saver.  Of course you have money!"

"My father hated me, Mrs. Hudson.  I highly doubt he left me anything, never mind a fortune"

"No!  No he did not.  You may have hated him, but that's on you.  He spoke of you all the time and prayed you'd get well and come home". 

"He's hated me since the day I was born"

"No, Love. Please believe me. That isn't true?"

"Could I see my room now, Mrs. Hudson.  I'd like to be alone for a bit"

"Of course, Jim.  Just follow me, I've put you upstairs, right next to Sebastian."  

*******

The room was small,  and sparsely furnished, but he didn't have much to fill it and didn't intend to be in it much.   It was painted a sunny yellow and had dainty lace trimmed curtains. He had a window that faced the street. As soon as Mrs. Hudson left, he tried it and found that it opened quite easily and quietly.  The drop was not too far down, he estimated 4 meters, and would only be onto grass.  

He put his few things away and checked out the small bath room.  The face he saw in the mirror looked tired and a bit too thin.  He needed some sun and a decent hair cut.  He practiced a series of sincere expressions and shy smiles in the mirror until he thought he could perform them at will.  Then, feeling a bit taxed by the excitement of the day, he stretched out on the small, single bed and closed his eyes.  It wasn't long before the beautiful half awake/half asleep, floating, drowsy feeling took hold of him.  It was one of his favorite sensations.  Luckily for him, the years in the hospital had trained him to sleep through any kind of noise.  So, he let himself go, promising himself he'd only nap for a few minutes.  

His brain began to process the bits and bytes of the day's data and soon he was dreaming of a camouflaged Moran busting into the hospital to rescue him in dramatic Hollywood fashion.  The former soldier was even taller and better looking in dream form.  His face was a bit blurry, but he somewhat resembled a new-age Errol Flynn or a very young Charlton Heston as he swept Jim up in his well-muscled arms before rapelling them both down the side of the building to safety.  Whatever heroes were made of, Dream Moran had it in spades.  Charm, masculinity, the protective instinct..  Dream Jim was just about to extend his tongue to taste the sweat of his savior when his reptile brain alerted him to danger. 

He woke with a start (and a raging erection) and heard the tell tale noises of someone was coming up the stairs.  The squeaks the wood emitted were a bit too loud to be those of their small hostess.  Perhaps Moran had returned, or was there someone else staying in the house?   The pounding on the door erased all doubt. 

He flipped onto his stomach, crossed his arms under his head and faced away from the door.  "Come in"  he said, hoping he sounded calm.    The door opened and the scent hit him.  Moran.  Jim had memorized it during the cab ride.  It made him feel a bit...undone.  This was not good.  Not good at all.  He swallowed and felt his heart racing.  Damn it! 

"Jimbo.  Come on, let's go get some grub"

"No, thank you"

"Oh, come on, kid. Don't be that way. You made your point. Let's be friends"  Moran plopped himself down on the bed and jiggled Jim's leg, playfully.  Jim rolled over onto his side, and propped his head up with his right arm and hand. 

"I'd like us to be friends, Sebastian.  I'd like us to be very good friends, but you can't hit me any more" 

"Alright. Alright.  I'm sorry. Ok?  Now come on.  Let's get out of here and have some fun" 

"What kind of fun?"

"you name it, kid.   It's your first night of freedom. What do you want to do?"

"Well, I'd like to go over all my father's accounts and figure out just exactly what my net worth is, but I guess I'll settle for some good curry and an explanation as to just who the Hell you are"  

"You're an odd little chap, Jim.  But I surrender. Do you want to go out or should I have your curry delivered?

"Have it delivered. I'll need some new clothes before I'm presentable.  Perhaps we can go shopping tomorrow?"

"No can do, Mister.  I'll be leaving tomorrow for a few days.  Mrs. Hudson will watch over you."

"Watch over me?  Like I'm a 5 year old?"

"I'm legally responsible for you and I'm leaving you in her care.  I expect you to behave?"

"And if I do, will you bring me a present?"  Jim batted his eyes and smiled sweetly.

"Yes. If you're good, I'll bring you a present, alright? Now let's go look at the take away menus and get some food. I'm starving!"  Sebastian bounded down the stairs without waiting for an answer.   Jim marveled at the big man's animal like nature.  He moved with such grace and agility. He always appeared to be completely comfortable and sure of himself.  Jim admired and envied that confidence. 

 

*****

While they waited for the food to arrive, Mrs. Hudson showed him what she'd gotten at the shops.  She picked up everything Jim needed to make martinis, which he insisted on doing, immediately.  He made one for each of them and passed them around with pride.  Moran quaffed his down  and signaled for another, giving Jim pointers on how to perfect his version of the cocktail.  Jim watched and listened and filed it away in his brain for later.  Meanwhile, Mrs. Hudson's went right to her head and she started to giggle at everything.  Jim nursed his own drink, slowly, hoping the food would absorb the alcohol. He wanted to keep a clear head in case Moran revealed anything interesting while under the influence.  Jim reminded Moran of his promise to divulge how he'd met the elder James Moriarty.   Moran changed the subject several times, winking at Mrs. Hudson mischievously, before finally settling down and relenting. 

Sebastian told him how a mutual friend had introduced him to Jim's father, shortly after a rather nasty discharge from her Majesty's Armed Forces.  They'd all had a bit to drink at one of those old boys clubs in London one night and then they'd started trading stories of their various exploit.   Moran confessed that his own tales, while basically true, were embellished, slightly,  for dramatic effect.  By the time the night was over, Jim's father had offered him an opportunity.  He couldn't even afford his bar tab, never mind a hotel, so he was in no position to turn him down.  And, though there wasn't much call for his particular skill set in any legitimate industry, the elder Moriarty found him entertaining and also quite useful, here and there from time to time.  

"so you are....were...his employee, then?"

"I'm more of an independent contractor, Jim"  Moran smiled, then yawned and stretched his entire body, like a satisfied tiger after it had consumed an entire wildebeest. 

Jim decided to bite the bullet and ask for the information he really wanted. "Why would my father make you my guardian?", he inquired, for that was the heart of the matter.  He didn't really much care how Moran had made dear old dad's acquaintance, but why would the man he knew to be so hard and calculated suddenly make such a rash choice about his son's future.  Unless he really didn't care what happened to him and saw Moran as a means to an end. 

"Beats me, mate.  I guess he trusted me.  He was surrounded by a lot of ass kissers and social climbers.  Me?  I never asked your old man for anything.  We had an agreement.  I was loyal to him and he was generous to me, but I never asked for a favor and I never let him down.  I think he must've thought I could keep you safe."

"From what, exactly" 

"Why, don't you know, Jim?" Sebastian asked sitting up and leaning his elbows on his knees.  He suddenly seemed perfectly sober and serious.  He shot Mrs. Hudson a look and she quickly got up and scurried to the kitchen. 

"No. From what, or whom, exactly did he think I needed protection?" 

"Well, the world in general, I suspect, Kid, but mostly...:"

"yes?"

"Well, mostly from yourself" 

"What the devil....."

"Jim, I'm tired.  We have lots of time to talk. We don't need to get through all of this tonight, alright"  Moran stood, stretched again and headed for the stairs. 

"If you're supposed to protect me, why are you going away and leaving me alone?"

"You're not alone.  I trust Mrs. Hudson with my life, and yours. She'll know how to reach me. You'll be fine.  Now, don't hassle her about your meds, ok? "  He stared down Jim's sour look with one of his own, until the boy broke the stare and nodded. Then he jogged up the stairs whistling something that Jim didn't recognize.

Jim gathered up the plates and glasses and headed for the kitchen.   Mrs. Hudson was sitting at the table with a cup of tea looking a bit tired and more than a bit worried.  Jim set the dishes at the sink and joined her at the table.  "Everything alright, Mrs. Hudson?"

"Oh, yes Dear.  That martini made me a bit muddled is all.  Are you alright?"

"Yes.  I think so.  I guess we're going to have a few days to get to know each other"

"Yes. I understand you need to do some shopping, is that right?'

"If it isn't too much trouble"

"No trouble at all, Dear.  We can go downtown tomorrow and find what you need, but not too early.  I suspect I'll have a headache in the morning" she sighed.

"Just let me know when it's convenient for you, it doesn't even have to be tomorrow"

"Oh, I'll be find by noon, Dear." she laughed, "What would you like me to make you for breakfast?"  She rose and pushed her chair in. 

"Toast and tea is fine by me"

"Oh, No.  We need to put some meat on your bones.  I'll make you a full English breakfast and we'll both feel better for it".   Then she leaned down and kissed the top of his head and Jim froze.   "Oh, I'm sorry, Dear.  Excuse me. I'm just so happy to have you here"  She stepped back from him, feeling she'd offended him in some way.   Jim rose and stepped toward her.

"Mrs. Hudson, no. Please.  It's just been a long time since I've had a mother.  I'd forgotten what it was like"  then he kissed her cheek and left the kitchen. 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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	5. Chapter 5

Jim assumed he was alone. Of course he did or he never would've dared to touch any of Moran's things. But his "guardian" had been gone for days and Mrs. Hudson had popped down to do the shopping. He'd feigned sleep to get out of accompanying her this time.  She'd gotten careless after the first couple of days and quit checking Moran's door.  Jim had "jimmied" the lock easily enough during the wee hours of the previous night, when he was sure she was asleep.  The three glasses of red wine he'd convinced her to enjoy had helped on that front.  Now, for the first time, he had the house to himself.  And if no one was around, then no one would know. No one would see. Still, he crept in on cat feet, trying to make no sound. 

He took the brown leather cross-draw holster off of the back of the chair by Moran's bed and slipped it over his own bare shoulders. Of course it was too big for him, but he cinched it as best he could then rubbed his small, inadequate hands over the warm, supple leather. It felt and smelled like manhood. He could only imagine the things Moran had gotten up to while wearing this gear. Jim pictured Moran in his mind, bare chested, as he was now, filling out this holster and his cammos with lean muscle. He felt the goose flesh rise on his arms and chest as he crossed over to the man's closet. There the scent of Moran was stronger and Jim felt himself harden. It wasn't right to feel this way, but he couldn't help himself. Moran was everything he wasn't. Skilled, mature, fit, dangerous. Jim envied him and desired him. As he took himself in hand he thought of how it would feel to be the object of Moran's own desires. Surely he'd fuck the way he did everything else, deftly, with confidence and aggression.  Jim shuddered.

The scent of Moran was so powerful now, it made him delightfully dizzy. He could almost feel his touch, could almost hear him growling at him and then he was slammed into from behind and found himself up against the wall in the closet, surrounded by hangers and Sebastian Moran's clothing. When he tried to turn, the hand on the back of his neck squeezed until he thought he might pass out.

"Whatcha doing, Jimmy?" Moran hissed into his ear.

"Nothing....just looking"

"Oh, I can see that. Do you often look with your hand on your cock, Jimmy?"

"No."

"Well, then please tell me what it is that you found in my closet that might arouse you to do so"

"I....I...."

"Yes. You...you..."

"I'm sorry, Sebastian. Please"

"Oh, I'm afraid you crossed a line, bud. Sorry isn't going to fix this. So, I want you to SLOWLY, reach down, pull those pants down and let them drop." Jim did as he was told, cursing his erection and his failure to hear Moran entering the squeaky old house.   What the Hell was wrong with him? Being a sneaky little prick himself, he usually was not caught off guard. As his pants dropped around his ankles, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was in for it now. Moran would probably beat his ass and kick him out in the alley naked. And it would serve him right. He was a disgusting little pervert. The big hand that had been on the back of his neck slid around to the front of  it and began squeezing. Jim heard himself squeak in fear and pain and cursed himself again. Way to be a tough guy, maybe he should piss himself as an encore.

"You wanna play a game, Jim?" Moran breathed into his ear before licking the back of his neck. His tonge felt rough, like a cat's.  Jim shuddered again. The squeezing increased. "Nod for yes, shake side to side for no" Moran instructed, reaching around with his other hand and squeezing Jim's left nipple, HARD. Jim nodded, frantically.

"Oh, good. I like games. I know lots of them, but this one is one of my favorites. When I let go, you turn around slowly, and keep your eyes closed, OK?' Jim nodded again and when the hand released his throat, he turned slowly around. He was scared witless but also horribly aroused. "Ahhhhhh, look at your sweet little cock, Jim!" Moran teased. "I guess it's appropriate for your size, but damn, son" Moran grabbed Jim's penis and squeezed it, hard. JIm gasped, but then pushed into Moran's big hand. "Ah, you like that, Jimmy?  OK, that's fine. I'm happy to stroke you off, but wait, there's more".  The hand released him and then he felt something soft and cool around his neck. It was pleasurable at first, but then it began to tighten.

"You're going to like this game, Jim, I promise. Open your eyes and look at me. It's important that you do that ok, so i can see when....when it's time. Do you understand?" Jim nodded, timidly and opened his eyes. He saw that he had a baby blue silk tie around his neck and Moran was staring at him intently. "This is the craziest thing ever, but it's so good. Prepare to have your mind blown, you dirty little boy". Moran laughed then grabbed Jim's face and pulled him in for a long, hard kiss. Jim was dazed. Moran was huge. He towered over him and his scent filled Jim's brain. Moran pulled back, smiling. "Ready?" he asked. His eyes were dancing now. He appeared both happy and psychotic. Jim nodded and slowly threw up a prayer that he would make it through whatever was to come next. "Ok. So, here we go" Moran cackled. He reached up over Jim's head and brought down a drum stick from the shelf about the hangers. Jim felt rather than saw as Moran tied the drumstick onto one side of his neck with the ends of the tie. What the Hell was going on?

**

Sebastian Moran began to twist the drumstick, and thusly the tie, around the little fucker's neck, watching his pupils closely. When he saw the look of concern first start to creep on his captive's sweet, little face, Moran felt his cock harden. He giggled to himself then leaned forward and kissed Jim. "Don't worry kid, you're in good hands. I promise" He knew he didn't need much pressure. Just enough to stop the blood flow to the brain for a few seconds. He gave the little guy's cock another stroke and tightened the garrot a wee bit more. When he got it to the perfect spot (in his humble opinion) he began stroking with earnest. He could back off or tighten the garrot as necessary and keep the little punk in perpetual suspense.  Poor little Jimmy didn't know whether to cum or piss himself.  The virgins never did. That was part of the fun.

"How does it feel, Jim?"

"nngph" was all the poor kid could manage. 

"Look at me. Can you smile?  Smile if you like it, Jim, or I'm gonna stop". The little guy smiled up at him like he was high for the very first time.

"Good Lad!" Moran barked and tightened his grip, both on the little guy's cock and on the garrot "OK, Jimmy, are you ready to cum?" more smiling. "You are? OK, here goes" Moran twisted the garrot just a bit more and began stroking Jim off quickly. He wanted to bury his tongue in that pretty little mouth, but knew he had to watch the pupils. It didn't take long, only a few seconds and he saw the tell-tale sign. Just as the pupils dilated, he released the garrot and roared, "cum" in little Jimmy's ear. The poor lad collapsed onto him, spurting jizz all over the closet like a god-damned geyser.

"Whoa!" Moran yelled, catching the kid under the arm pits and hauling him out of the closet. He laid him on the bedroom floor and checked his pulse. Jim looked up at him, still wearing that crazy grin on his face. "You ok, kid?" Moran asked, staring at his eyes, looking for signs of injury. The boy blinked about 16 times, then wiped his hands across his face. His coloring was returning to normal, Thank God.

"Blimey", Jim said and smiled again.

"Alright, sweetheart. Let's get you cleaned up, OK?" Moran pulled the kid up to standing, then, realizing he wasn't ready to walk, scooped him up into his arms. Christ, he'd held women who weighed more. He needed to get some food into this kid on the regular if he was gonna keep him as a pet, that was for damn sure. He sat on the tub, cradling Jim like a baby and turned the water on in the tub. After making sure it wasn't too hot, he squirted some bubble bath, the pink flowery shit that Mrs. Hudson bought in bulk, under the faucet and watched the foam start to rise. Bubble bath always made Moran think of his mother, God rest her crazy soul. She'd done the best she could tryng to raise 6 children while their father was off boozing and whoring while she worked three jobs, but in the end the madness still took her.  He lifted jim once again and lowered him into the tub. The kid lolled in the water, like he was half asleep or drunk.

"Come on, kid, look at me" Jim smiled up at him, once again then began scooping up bubbles and placing them over his nipples. He giggled and looked at Moran, shyly. "Oh, are you a pretty little girl, now, Jimmy?  Well, that's ok by me, Pet. We can play that way if you want......" Moran cupped himself and pictured sweet young Jim Moriarty, son of the coldest mother fucker he'd ever known, dressed in a pink frock with knee socks and black patent leather shoes, laying on his belly, ass up in the air. "Yeeesssss, we can do that...a bit later...if you wish" he kneeled down, then reached out and cupped Jim's face, almost tenderly. Then he pulled the lad in for a proper kiss, tasting the sweetness in that young mouth, that mouth he'd soon be putting to better use.


	6. Chapter 6

 When young James Moriarty woke up, snug and warm in his bed he had the strangest sensation that it had all been a dream, just an illusion.  Then he touched his swollen neck, gingerly, and the sting he felt erased all doubt.  He had not imagined the encounter in his guardian's closet.  The two of them had taken their very strange relationship to another level of strangeness.  Jim next noticed that his hair felt a bit damp and that he smelled very clean.  He did not remember bathing, at first, but relaxed a bit and just let the memories come rushing back.  He'd been tired. So tired.  and Moran had been so gentle with him.  He'd felt safe and loved, just like when his mother used to bathe him.  And what the buggering fuck did that mean?    

He pulled the duvet back and found that he was wearing a  turquoise colored satin kimono. It was very feminine, embroidered with pink and yellow cranes and butterflies.  A gift from Moran? Or had it just been handy?  Who had worn in last?  For whom had it been purchased?  Maybe it was Mrs. Hudson's.  Jim felt both cared for and exploited.    He heard the stairs creaking. Too lightly to be Moran, although the bastard had ascended them silently before, hadn't he?  Jim pulled the duvet up to his throat and turned to face the wall.   When he heard the light tap on the door, he felt relieved. Definitely the landlady.

"Come in" he called, sweetly, but she didn't open the door.  Mrs. Hudson was overly respectful of the privacy of others. 

"Jim?  Are you coming down for supper, Dear?  Are you not feeling well?"  he could sense the tone of concern in the woman's voice.

"I, yes, of course,  thank you Mrs. Hudson.  I was just napping."  He called. "I'll be right down"

"No rush, Love.  Just wanted to know before I set the table. It's nothing fancy, but I hope you'll enjoy it."  Her voice trailed off and she started back down the stairs.  Jim sat up and stretched.  Then he listened intently for the sound of Moran's deep voice or noise from the room next door. Nothing.  He slipped out of the kimono, hanging it, reverently in the closet.  He slipped on black jeans and a gray sweater and his house slippers then went into the bathroom.  His hair was askew so he wetted a comb and tidied it a bit.  His coloring looked good and he could see no bruising or redness on his neck.  It wouldn't do to have the prim and proper Mrs. Hudson asking about sex bruises.  He relieved his bladder then brushed his teeth before prancing down the stairs.

When he saw that the table was only set for the two of them, Jim stopped abruptly.  

"Is Sebastian not joining us?"

"No, Dear.  He's not due back for two more days. You know that"

"But...."   Oh! She didn't know!  She hadn't seen him!   Sebastian had come and gone in the short time she'd been out. Jesus. What exactly was he playing at?   Jim sat down, feeling a little dazed. He tried his best to not show his bewilderment to their hostess.  

"But, what, Dear?"  Mrs. Hudson,  the personification of sincerity and  and propriety.  Or was she?

"Nothing, Mrs. Hudson.  Nothing.  I, uh, lost track of days, I guess."  He beamed a great smile at her and flashed the puppy dog eyes.  She returned a warm smile and put a lovely chicken breast on his plate.  The scent of the food made him realize just how hungry he was....for information.  "Mrs. Hudson, do you know what happens when I come of age?" he asked, with an innocent lilt. 

"What do you mean, Jim?"

"When I'm a legal adult, do I inherit all of my father's holdings?"

"Oh.  I, uhm, don't rightly know, Dear.  You'd have to ask Seb or talk to your father's solicitors"

"Who are they? His solicitors.  Where do I find them?"  

"You should really ask, Sebastian, Love"

"But I'm asking you!"  he snapped, before he could stop himself.   The look of shock on her face was all he needed to know he'd over-stepped. 

"Jim, Dear"  she reached out to pat his hand, "Have you taken your medicine, today?"  He recoiled from her.  How dare she imply he was not stable?

"We aren't talking about my medicine, or me, Mrs. Hudson."  He felt the anger rise in him.  "Please don't try to change the subject!"  He leaned toward her, just an inch or two, for effect.

"James!"  The woman protested.  "What has gotten into you?"  She rose from the table and headed toward the sink, pretending to need a glass of water? Maybe she did. 

"I don't like being kept in the dark, Mrs. Hudson.  I never have.  I don't think Sebastian is being honest with me and, now, I don't think you are either.  It makes me.....unhappy"  

****

Mrs. Hudson suddenly felt quite ill at ease. The look on the young man's face reminding her of a cobra snake.  She stepped back from the sink and stepped casually toward the knife drawer. With her back to it, she reached down and eased it open with her right hand.  At the same time she eased her left hand into her Apron pocket and activated the small device concealed there.  "Your father was represented by several solicitors, Jim.  But I think the one you want to talk to is Mr. Tyler at Bronson and Briggs."  She hoped her voice did not sound as panicked to him as it sounded to her. 

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson"  the boy said, quietly.  "Shall we eat?  It all smells so delicious." 

"Help yourself, Dear.  I'll be just a minute"  she backed out of the kitchen and headed for her bedroom. She locked herself in and found her phone by her bedside.  Her hands were shaking as she texted   Sebastian.  She considered dialing 999, but what would she report?  Rudeness?  The asking of questions?  He really hadn't done anything, but she felt threatened, just the same.  

***

Jim didn't wait for the old woman to return.  His stomach was roaring.  He scooped up potatoes and veg to go with his chicken and tucked in.   Oh!  She was a great cook, he'd grant her that. After years of food in the "hospital" it was delightful to taste something made with fresh ingredients and some pride in production.  He knew nothing about herbs, but knew she'd done something extraordinary to the poultry. As it melted on his tongue, he almost felt bad for scaring her.   If she'd just been upfront with him, any ugliness could've been avoided. Why were people so tedious? 

As Jim contemplated the need for martinis, his mobile phone alerted him.  He took it from his pocket and saw that he had a new text.  And joy of joys, it was from Sebastian! 

 

_**Pack a bag, sport. I want you to join me - SM**_

 

Oh, Dear. Mrs. Hudson must have called Moran from the loo.   No worries.  He was tired of the domestic life, for now.  A bit of fun with Sebastian might be just what he needed.  He texted back.

 

_**I'd be delighted  - JM** _

 

He sprang from his chair and headed for the stairs. Then he stopped and returned to the kitchen.  He washed his plate and glass  and returned them to their place int he cupboard. Then decided he did want that martini after all.  He made one for Mrs. Hudson too, leaving it at her place at the table.  A peace offering, so to speak.   He gulped his down, then dashed upstairs and threw all his clothes into a plastic bag. But that wouldn't do, not at all.  He jogged back down the stairs. 

"Mrs. Hudson?"  he called, just outside her door.  He heard the bed squeak as she rose from it.  She was listening from behind the door, he just knew it.   "Mrs. Hudson. I'm so sorry if I upset you.  I took the liberty of making you a cocktail. I hope you'll enjoy it.  But I need a favor, please. Sebastian wants me to join him. So, I need a small suitcase or even a garment bag.  Do you have something I can borrow?"

She did not answer, but after a moment, the door opened just enough for her to slip a soft sided leather bag out into the hall way.   She didn't even look out at him!   How rude!

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.  Again, I'm sorry about earlier.  Forgive me?"  he asked in his sweetest tone.  It was the one that always worked on the younger nurses. 

"I hope you enjoy yourself, Jim.  I'm just not feeling well at the moment.  Lock the door on your way out, won't you?"  came the voice through the door.  So that's how it was. 

"Alright.  I don't know how long we'll be gone.  He didn't give me any details"  he listened for a response, but none came.   He frowned and returned to the kitchen.  He made himself another martini and took it up to his bedroom.  He packed his things neatly and danced around the room, feeling giddy with excitement.  The vodka made him feel warm and relaxed.  He finally understood the charms of alcohol.   His phone alerted again and the text made his heart race. 

_**Cab will get you in 10.   See you in Paris - SM** _

 

Jim literally squealed like a school girl.   He spun in a circle, smiling like a fool. Then panic shot through him and he sent another text. 

 

_**I have no identification. No passport. - JM** _

 

He wanted to cry.  He'd been so excited for a moment.  Should've known it wouldn't work out. Nothing ever does. 

 

_**Have a little faith in me.  Side pocket - SM** _

 

Jim tore at the buckle holding the side pocket closed.  Sure enough.  His passport five 10 pound notes and 100 Euros.    He grabbed his toothbrush from the loo and tore down the stairs to the sitting room.   He stared out the front window until he saw the lights of the cab outside.   He locked the door, as promised and took a last look at the old house before getting into the cab. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
